


Wash Your Mouth Out

by Atalan



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humour, I would say I'm sorry but I'm not, Prompt Fic, oh so very much crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalan/pseuds/Atalan
Summary: It is not, strictly speaking, entirely true that the Archangel Gabriel does not eat.Written for the prompt "that's not how you use that..."
Comments: 66
Kudos: 240
Collections: The Not-Very-Nice and Anatomically-Inaccurate Prophecies of OLHTS





	Wash Your Mouth Out

The Archangel Gabriel does not sully the temple of his celestial body with gross matter, and he is always vary careful to phrase it in those exact words. Partly because it sounds impressive and judgemental and makes even Michael less likely to question him. Partly because it allows for the unspoken footnote, written in the tiniest of fonts and liable to be overlooked by even the keenest audience, that says, _of course, were there any gross matter that would_ not _sully one’s celestial body so much as… purify it – why, then that would be a different, ah hah, matter, as it were._

He has _tried_ to cut back, over the centuries. But the humans are so clever with some things, like the delights of tailoring, and the delights of his little, ah– not a vice, no. Archangels don’t have vices. His little… _quirk_. Good bosses have quirks, little deviations from the norm, it makes them better at running a tight ship. He read it in a book somewhere, he’s sure.

His current favourite is a little place on Oxford Street. He smells it before he sees it, the heady aroma sending a shiver of anticipation to the tips of his toes, and wringing a quite unseemly growl from his otherwise unused stomach. His pace quickens. He pauses just before he enters the shop, glancing over his shoulder in a fit of paranoia, and then reminds himself that there is no reason for anyone to be looking for him here.

The employees of this fine establishment know him well. Gabriel likes to think he’s a favourite customer. The fact that their faces turn a rather strange colour whenever he walks in, or that some of them quit on the spot and never come back, is surely just an unfortunate human reaction to his angelic presence. He’s tried the odd _be not afraid_ here and there, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to help, so he just smooths out the worst of their disquiet with a miracle or two at the end of each visit.

He can see straight away that they have new stock. New _treats…_ and some of them look just _heavenly_ , ha ha, he must remember that one.

He beckons over the human store manager, who takes a deep, steadying breath, reaches behind the counter, and pulls out a tray divided into an assortment of compartments. They didn’t have any such thing on hand on the occasion of Gabriel’s first visit, but they’ve quickly learned his requirements.

He moves through the shop, the human at his elbow, pointing out his choices. The human selects them carefully with tongs and drops them onto the tray. The first time, he’d used his hands, which Gabriel had made very clear was _not_ to happen again.

“And would you like these boxed up, sir?” the human says finally, when there are no more compartments to fill. He is sweating like he’s run a marathon. “I can have you rung up in a jiffy–”

“Actually,” Gabriel says, beaming, “today I think I’d like to sample them on the premises. So I can make an _informed_ choice.”

The human swallows hard, and nods to one of his assistants, who hurries into the back room and brings out a slightly wobbly folding table and chair, a white table cloth, and a white porcelain plate. There are a few other customers in the shop, now eyeing proceedings with curiosity. Gabriel flashes them his biggest grin. Let them see how the big money boys are treated in a classy place like this.

He takes his seat. The manager proffers the tray. Gabriel looks over his selection, and then points to the one that had particularly caught his eye on the way in, all navy swirls and iridescent glitter. The human puts it on the plate for him. The smell is – ha ha – _divine_.

“You’ll carve it for me, won’t you?” Gabriel says.

“Yes, sir,” says the man in the _LUSH_ apron, with a haunted expression. He picks up a knife, and begins to carefully slice the _Deep Starry Midnight_ bath bar into perfect, bite-size chunks.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry. Except for anyone who thought this was the notification for the next chapter of "Best Served Cold", which will actually be updating next week. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Wash Your Mouth Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435892) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)
  * [Subject: Help With An Unusual Customer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506576) by [TheLordOfLaMancha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha)




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